


Counting Sheep

by AutomaticDoop (rexerei_writes)



Category: Fire Emblem: Kakusei | Fire Emblem: Awakening
Genre: F/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Semi-Public Sex, Vaginal Sex, [SHRUGS AGGRESSIVELY]
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-04-25
Packaged: 2018-03-20 00:46:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3630375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rexerei_writes/pseuds/AutomaticDoop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Robin has a dream and she'd like to see it realized.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> sometimes you just gotta the lord's work

She isn’t sure how exactly they ended up this way, panting, gasping, tangling in her sheets. His mouth is on hers, then moving along her jaw, leaving hickies in the crook of her neck. He’s grinding up against her, layers be damned, and _gods above_ she’s seeing spots. She moans, whisper soft, praying that no one hears her beyond the wooden door of her room in the barracks.

Robin doesn’t remember how they even got here, all she can think of is the way his callused hands are sliding her shirt up, cloak and vest discarded already, where and when fuzzy in her mind. He leans down to press his lips against the sensitive skin of her stomach, working upwards. He pauses only briefly in his actions, a lull between his soft nips and his _damnably_ talented tongue, giving the bruise on her ribs from that morning’s training a soft kiss. Gentle.

Almost tender. 

And then as swiftly as the pause came he was at his task once more, any breather she might have been given thrown out the window as he reaches her breasts, heaving as she gasps and stifles her moans. She almost loses any shreds of control she might have clung to as he cups one, twirling a finger almost dainty across her nipple, applying a similar treatment with his tongue to the other. 

“ _Fuck_ , Gangrel- _please_ -“ She breathes, the thought of how, two years prior, she would have rather died than say such words flitting through her mind before leaving in a pleasant haze. He shifts slightly, fixing eyes as sharp as blades on her. Still fixated on her, even as he pants just as wildly and desperately as she has to. 

“Something amiss, tactician?” His voice is low, practically a growl, and the rumble it sends through his chest and down into hers elicits another soft gasp. 

“Stop- stop teasing me.” She retorts, trying to sound demanding but coming out painfully needy. She knows he won’t follow her order as he moves down to drag his tongue across the other nipple, switching hands to knead the first carefully. 

“But that’s half the fun, isn’t it?” He practically purring as he rests his chin on her chest, looking terribly pleased with himself. She lets herself breath a moment as he waits, regaining a considerable amount of composure. 

“I’m serious!” She exclaims as quietly as she can, casting a glance at the door. She’d locked it, right? Gods, let her have locked it. 

“So am I! You do make marvelous faces, you know.” He grins and she goes red, feeling the burn across her cheeks. He pushes himself to his elbows to kiss her again and she takes the chance to grind hard against him, drawing a shuddering moan he had to stifle by biting down on his lip. He bucks against her involuntarily, and she thinks he curses her quietly in a language she can’t quite make out. He growls this time and pins her hips with his, practically tearing his shirt off, hands at the laces of her breeches, impatient, trying to undo the knots with little success. 

“Let me.” She breathes, pushing herself up to him, mouth at his neck for only a moment, the slightest taste of payback, and then her hand is pushing gently at his chest, fingers tracing softly over the long, jagged scar that arced from left shoulder to right hip. He obliges, though not without a petulant scoff, like a child whose toy was confiscated. Her hands, while slightly shaking, were deft and precise as they undid his pants first, nimble fingers extracting his cock with ease. He expects her to follow suit, to climb onto him and ride him like he was little more than a convenient toy, and she knows he does. 

She can’t _wait_ to defy him. 

Her fingers wrap around him, playing with him, savoring the way he writes beneath her. He’s already a mess, but the slick precum gives her lubrication as she dances along the shaft, using her thumb to carefully locate the sensitive spot under the head. She knows she’s stuck gold when his breath hitches and he thrusts up, desperate. Now it’s his turn to beg, hands clutching at her sheets. He looks up hopefully as she shifts, only to snap his eyes closed again immediately, arching his back as she runs her tongue along the shaft, taking the head of his cock in her mouth and reveling in the way he loses any semblance of control over the situation. He whines slightly, uncurling his fingers from the bedsheets to run them through her hair. The change is truly a thing to behold, she muses, fingers tracing his sharp, angled hipbones. Not just in his behavior now, at her mercy, but his demeanor in general. He wasn’t the monster she thought she’d killed those years ago. And he wasn’t the husk they’d pulled into their campaign, either. 

And now? Now he was the man she desperately wanted to fuck her into the mattress. 

He makes another low noise, moving his hand from her hair to her shoulders, forcing her up as he rises to meet her. His lips crash against hers, hungry, and his desperation fuels her own. This time when he goes for the laces on her breeches, he’s rougher, yanking them undone as she lies back, allowing him to pull them off, along with her smallclothes. He’s more aggressive now, not vicious but demanding, breath hitching as he positions himself, restrained at her entrance. She shivers as he brushes against her slightly, but sighs as he goes no further. 

She finds his eyes, feeling almost annoyed he’d hold back now, but her expression softens as she looks over him. He’s staring at her, almost slackjawed, his gaze following every curve of her body, nearly awed. 

“Gangrel…” She says softly and his eyes flick up to meet hers. “Please?” 

And like an arrow let loose, that’s all it takes to push him, and he thrusts forward slow, reading her expression. She bites her lip, but the wave of pleasure fades fast and she wiggles her hips up to his, guiding him, spurring him faster, harder, more, please gods, more. 

Neither of the pair have much left in them, and she knows he’s getting close as he leans forward as far as he can to rest his forehead against hers. 

“Robin-“ He grunts, his breath catching as she presses against him, curling her arms around his shoulders and her fingers into his hair. “I- _gods_ \- I love you-“ He stammers, eyes closed, afraid to watch her, afraid to see her reaction. She’s not silent, hasn’t been for the entire duration, breaths peppered with gasps and stifled moans. But she hesitates, suddenly feeling shy. Like a schoolchild, of all things, but the breathless laugh gives her away. She’s overjoyed- surprised, yes, but not unpleasantly so. 

“Gangrel, I-“ But she’s cut short as he shifts, pulling her hips to his, and suddenly she can feel the light-headed rush of her impending orgasm, building like a wave- 

She wakes with the words ‘I love you’ on her lips, biting back a moan, sheets constricting, humid. It takes her a moment to orient herself, the familiar twinge in her back giving a helpful reminder that she had slept in one of the army’s uniformly issued cots, made passable by her bedroll over it, but still nowhere near pleasant. Robin sighs as the tingling warmth in her abdomen curls, her face flushed. The dream had been vivid, yes, but wholly embarrassing. What was her mind trying to tell her? Was she that hard-up for a partner?

The floor of the tent isn’t as cushy as the familiar wooden planks of the barracks, certainly, but it’s better than the bare packed dirt underneath. She can feel the chill as she rises to push back the flap of her tent a bit, gauging the dark sky for the time. Still hours before sunrise. 

The aching between her thighs does not lessen in the time it takes her to tie the flap back into place and slip back into the cot. Sleep dances away from her, and she has to release a sigh as she slips a hand under her sheets, under the soft cloth pajama bottoms, desperate for release. 

She closes her eyes and bites down hard on her lip, and pretends it’s _his_ hand instead of her own. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> dangrel gangrel  
> i dont know why i typed that

The staring was her first mistake.

They’d started as glances, then grew to lingering gazing, and was culminating now in damn-near ogling. She noticed little details now, the way he bit his nails when he was nervous, the way he shifted his weight from foot to foot, the way he pursed his lips when he though no one was looking. 

But she was looking. Tracing his features surreptitiously, from the corner of her eye, glancing away if she though he might look at her. He’d caught her once, and she’d offered him a humiliated half-wave, which he’d received with little more than a raised brow. Robin could only hope that he wouldn’t take it the wrong way. Like a prison warden, rather than a moony tactician.

At the very least, she could be pleased with the progress he’d made when he spoke to her. He’d started out bitter, quiet, flinching every time she talked to him like her words were impending blows. Hell, Gangrel had even taken to smiling recently, and even though they almost always followed some sharp remark of his, she couldn’t help but smile back.

The dreams weren’t always frequent, but they were consistent in their arrival. The first had come after their first real conversation, another was after he laughed, and most recently she’d dreamed of him when he’d rested his hand on her shoulder, leaning over her to read something she’d pointed out. The momentary closeness had been fleeting and bittersweet, but he hadn’t seemed to notice the way her face lit up like an Arcfire tome. 

Robin had even deluded herself into thinking she’d hidden her impulses well.

Up until Gangrel started to stare back.

She thought it was coincidence for a time, but suddenly every time she looked up at him she’d catch him watching her. Her gaze would flick away quickly, color rising in her cheeks, not able to meet his eyes for long. He’d stand closer, speak quieter, find excuses to brush up against her. 

She knew he was forward, but catching her at the bookshelf, a murmured “Pardon me.” in her ear, leaning forward enough to pluck a volume that his chest pushed into her back was beyond forward.

It was downright _brazen_.

The tactician excused herself quickly, face flushed and hands shaking the slightest bit. She slipped out of the tent and into the camp, suddenly remembering every vivid detail of her dream, practically feeling his hands on her. She heard the rustle of the tent flaps behind her and walked faster. Gods, she couldn’t face him. Not like this. She was supposed to be cornerstone of the army. A paragon. Almost inhuman in her dedication. 

This wasn’t dedication. This was desperation. She heard him call her name and pretended not to hear, ducking around a corner. She was looking around now, trying to find a place to hide, to wait it out until she could scurry back to her tent like a coward and- well. Take care of herself. She heard him call her name again, further away now, and the memory of him moaning it swept back.

Gods damn her treacherous mind.

Trying to find a hiding spot was difficult amongst the distractions. Was the bath tent ahead? Or was it where she met Chrom to plan the army’s movements? She had to make a decision quickly, or he’d catch up to her.

For a moment, she wonders why she doesn’t want him to- but not here. Somewhere private maybe, though if she simply led him back to her tent there could be witnesses, people talking, and in that instant she wasn’t certain she cared.

Robin grit her teeth and pushed into the nearest tent. Barrels and crates lined it, and she realized it must be food storage. Deserted, save for her. She took a few steps forward and leaned forward, resting her palms on the top of the crate, sighing in frustration, cursing her indecision. 

There were two viable options, she thought logically. She could work with logic. She knew it well. Either pursue Gangrel, or don’t. Indulge or ignore. God did she want to indulge. What would the camp think? What would Chrom, her best friend of two years think? What was she thinking?

She let out a quiet growl, smacking the heel of her palm against the surface of the crate. The sound of rustling fabric from behind startled her.

“Now, what did the poor box do to deserve that?” Gangrel said, giving her a look she couldn’t quite decipher. He allowed the tent’s flaps to fall closed behind him. His eyes were locked on hers, and she almost thought she was burning alive with the sudden, intense wave of need the washed over her. 

“P-pardon?” She stammered, unable to focus as he took a step towards her, crossing his arms. 

“The box? The one you just roughed up?” ( _She wished he would rough her up. Sexually? Nonviolently. She lamented the loss of her coherent thought in silence._ )

“Oh. Oh, this box. This one. Here. Here behind me. Just. You know. Boxes.” ( _Was she babbling now? She felt like she was babbling._ )

His look shifted into something like amusement for a moment. “I think we should talk. Is now a good time?”

“Yes. It’s a great time.” Why did she say that? It was the opposite of a great time! Had her sense gone running for the hills at the first sign of trouble? He took another step towards her and she knew he had to notice the state she was in. “Wh-what about?”

“What exactly do you want from me?” He hissed, taking another measured step. Just a little more and he’d be able to feel the heat radiating off her in waves. He was tall enough that she had to look up to see him properly, even with his lean. “Don’t think I haven’t noticed you watching me. At first I thought you were trying to spy, but you aren’t, are you? No, you want something else. But-“ 

“You.” She blurted, and felt herself shudder at his look. Surprise crossed his face, then mistrust and hope, warring. 

“That’s what they all said. I have no title, no gold, nothing to give you. The attempts at _seduction_ -“ He paused, only now noticing the fact he’d begun to draw in, inching the gap between them closed. “…they’ll get you nothing.” His voice was soft now, eyes flickering between her eyes and her lips. 

With that, he stopped, uncrossing his arms but not touching her. Robin realized she now had to make a decision. Ignore or indulge. Walk away, or take what she wanted.

“Gangrel…” she murmurs, casting a glance to the tent’s entrance. “I don’t want a title. I don’t want your gold. I want nothing more than you.” She pressed herself to him, slinging her arms around his neck, crashing her lips against his. And like that, he unhinged, one hand at her hip, the other curling into her hair. He’s already hard, she notes delightedly, and she wonders if he’d been hoping for this as long as she had. She wants to suggest they move, but then the hand at her hip shifts, lifting her up just enough to sit on the crate she’d hit earlier. They angled back in unison, too busy liplocking to part. 

Well, it wasn’t precisely her dream, but she wasn’t complaining. Though as he began to slip her shirt upward they heard a noise from outside, a voice calling out a greeting. Not immediately worrying, sure, but too close. They broke apart, panting for breath. “G-Gangrel, what if-“

She cut off with a stifled moan as he shifted, grinding his hips up to hers. The flood of desperation returned full force, and she shot him a dirty look. 

“I can keep quiet if you can.” He replies with a wicked grin, fingers already at the laces of her breeches. Hell, she’d come too far now to stop short. And she needed him, wanted him to take her now. She took a moment to breathe, listening carefully. 

After a moment she looked back to him, to find his gaze hadn’t left her. “I can.” 

There wasn’t much fuss past that as he undid the ties and hooked his index fingers into her pants and undergarments both, wriggling them down with a little help on her end. It was a fleeting thought in Robin’s mind how grateful she was that her robes had fanned out, sparing her from a possibly nasty set of splinters. 

And the thought was gone as quickly as it came as Gangrel hooked her leg over his shoulder and pressed a kiss to her inner thigh. A shiver ran through her as she fought to keep quiet, propping herself up on her elbows. He was smirking at her, edging closer to- _oh_.

Her dream had been right about one thing for sure.

He was remarkable with his tongue.

She had to clamp one hand over her mouth just to suppress the pathetically needy whines bubbling up. He watched her intently as she writhed under him, deftly working her clit and teasing her entrance. 

Her toes were curling. She thought that only happened in the torrid novels she’d borrowed from Sumia. He would give her a moment to breathe before returning to his ministrations, allowing delightfully scattered thoughts to flow through her mind. Most of them tended to be either ‘ _Oh, gods_ ’ or ‘ _Yes_ ’, or a combination.

She could feel herself slipping, her impending orgasm growing closer with each carefully planned flick of his tongue. His fingers pressed firm against her thigh, and she found herself grateful of his nail-biting habit. Gangrel was already learning to read her, it seemed, as he paused to give her thigh another kiss. 

“Am I making a good first impression?” He purred, grinning as she fixed him with a look. 

“Very. Very good.” She stammered quietly. 

“Perfect.” He replied in an equally low tone, making her breath hitch as he moved, a trail of kisses to her navel, pushing up her shirt. She let out the breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding as he peeled away to work the laces of his own trousers. “Let’s move on then, shall we?”

She was startled again by the accuracy of her dream. He wasn’t fully undressed, true, but what she could see of him was identical to the figment of her painfully amorous daydreams. And gods, did she like what she saw. He leaned forward, obscuring her view as he nipped at her collarbone above the neckline of her tunic, but she could certainly still feel him. Slow, shallow strokes into her, patient, testing. She bucked her hips towards his as she dug her fingers into his shirt, but to little avail. 

“D-don’t underestimate me.” She growled into his ear. She hadn’t denied herself so long for this. “Move. Move!” She hissed suddenly, pushing him up to give her room. She popped off the crate and guided him, or shoved him, really, to take her place. He looked confused, but it ebbed as she pushed him back, then climbed on top of him. 

“Just let me lead, alright?” She gave him a flash of a smile and a kiss on the cheek. It was far too chaste a smooch to lead her sinking down onto his cock fully, if not quickly. He let out a muffled moan as he watched her, biting into the fabric of his sleeve to silence it. He still kept his eyes on her, as much as he could. 

Robin wasn’t certain why, but it lit a fire in her. She had no trouble taking him, and quickly adjusted to an easy pace, rolling her hips into his to angle him just right. She could feel herself approaching her limit again, a slow build of heat rising in her. She couldn't find it in herself to be upset about how short it was, especially not when she was struggling to draw it out. Besides, time wasn't exactly a resource they had in droves here.

The push over the edge came as Gangrel rose to meet her, an arm circling around her waist to hold them together, the other around her back. “Robin-“ He stammered, but she cut him off with a hard kiss, curling her hands into his hair, biting back the moan as she came. She tightened around him and he followed soon after, breaking away from the kiss to nuzzle his face into her neck. 

They stayed interlocked a minute, catching their breath and feeling the others heart racing. The quiet stretched on, comfortable somehow, like their own bubble in the bustle of the camp. Another voice rang out, closer than the first, and it brought the moment to a close. She climbed off of him slowly, muscles trembling slightly from their exertion. 

“So have we stopped dancing around each other?” He asked finally, pulling his pants back on.

“Something like that.” She replies with a grin, retrieving her own pair and sliding them up.

“I’m serious.” He retorts, catching her as she ties them, folding his arms around her slowly, gingerly, afraid she’ll break loose. He almost flinches when she moves to give him a brief, sweet kiss. 

“So am I.” She offers him a small smile. He’s about to return it when the flap to the tent swings aside, Frederick pausing as he sees them.

“Pardon me, milady Robin. And-“ He stops as he takes in her companion. “Gangrel.” Curt, but not aggressive. “Milday, are you-“

“I’m fine, Frederick.” She interrupts. She has to go on tiptoes to reach properly, but she kisses his cheek plainly and whispers something in his ear. Then she turns and walks calmly to the entrance, giving Frederick a friendly pat on the shoulder, and exits.

The knight shot a glare towards Gangrel, but he gave a simple shrug in response, a victorious sort of smirk on his face. 

“If you’ll excuse me, then. I have a date I _really_ don’t want to miss.”

Frederick remained in the entrance a moment, not certain what confused him more. The thought that Robin and Gangrel were romantically involved? Or the mysterious pair of undergarments left on the ground?

He turned and left the tent, refusing the think on it any further than that.


End file.
